For Cardassia
by Prophetic Fire
Summary: A small moment, just a glance out a window into the setting sun, and Damar makes a decision that changes the future of Cardassia forever. (One-shot, set just after Damar is forced to sign the alliance with the Breen Confederacy.)


_ Is this the Cardassia I fought for? Is this the Cardassia I _lived _for?_

I look out of the window in the outer hall of Central Command, down at the street below me. It is late in the afternoon, a time when men and women would be lining the walkways, each jostling for their own small bit of space as they made their way toward the transit stations and the trains that would take them home. Bureaucrats, legates, file clerks, technicians, analysts, archons, the distinctions would no longer matter as each took his or her place in the swelling sea of gray and black, bound together by thoughts of their loved ones and children and a hot meal after a long day.

I see none of that now. Looking down, I behold emptiness. The setting sun throws vibrant reds and oranges and purples across the streets, but the colors fall on cold stone. I search for any sign of movement, any sign that perhaps the people are all in hiding, waiting; that at any moment, as if on cue, they will burst from the doors below and claim their place in those kaleidoscopic streets.

A moment passes. Two. Something catches my eye, a flicker of shadow in the vibrant light. I turn my gaze toward it. Three shadows, in the glare of the setting sun. They cross the street, merging into the shadow cast by the building on the opposite side, and I am able to make them out clearly. Three Jem'Hadar, on patrol.

I exhale heavily. I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath. I had been waiting, for . . . what? I don't know. Not for the throng of people, really. For what they represented? For a sense of normalcy? I had never much cared about those things. I had taken them for granted. But so much has changed. This pact with the Dominion has put Jem'Hadar on our streets, and Breen in our government, and Cardassians in their graves. This is not the future that I had envisioned. The Dominion was supposed to strengthen us, to restore us to our former glory, so that we could once again command the respect—and fear—of our neighbors in the Alpha Quadrant. And for all the trouble we have gone to, for all the _lives _we have _sacrificed_ to achieve that end, we are little more than puppets. Pawns.

_We are a joke._

I clench my jaw as a flash of anger ripples through me. I have tried to ignore that thought, but it's true. Bajor thinks we are broken. The Federation thinks we are backward. The Romulans think we are weak. We are nothing, swallowed up in the vastness of the Dominion like a scrap of food in the belly of some beast, left to be dissolved as the Dominion sucks the pride out of every last Cardassian.

Well, I'll be damned if I'm going to let that happen. I did not fight this war for nothing. I did not fight to reclaim Terok Nor from the Federation for nothing. I did not fight against the Klingons with Dukat for nothing. I did it for Cardassia. I did it so that I can see my son someday merge into that throng of bodies on their way home from work in the shimmering afternoon light. I did it so that my wife will not have to worry about terrorists on her doorstep or torpedoes through her roof. I did it for every glinn and gul and legate I had served with, who had done it in turn for their spouses and children.

I had fought for Cardassia.

And Cardassia it seems requires my services once again. Much like Dukat, who had come to me just days ago asking for my help. I chuckle wryly at the memory. Why he'd wanted to surgically alter himself to look Bajoran I never discovered, but out of some sense of loyalty I wasn't even aware I still possessed I agreed to aid him. And when all was said and done, he had reminded me of the bold soldier I had been when we'd fought the Klingons, before this Dominion mess. He'd given me back my pride. Ironic, I thought, as I had felt the nationalistic fervor bubbling up once again within me, that the one man who had gotten us into this may just now have planted the seeds for getting us out of it.

I return my focus to the street. The Jem'Hadar patrol has moved off, leaving the dying light to once again dance alone on the cold stone. I am about to turn away when I see it. From a door down the block, two men cautiously emerge. Looking around and seeing nothing, they begin to move down the walkway. A woman comes out of the door shortly after and hurries to catch up with the men. As they go along together, one of the men smiles and says something which causes all three to break out into laughter.

I watch them, these three contented figures, until they melt into the final glare of the setting sun. It is so small a thing, just a few people going home from work. But my chest tightens and my hands tremble slightly as a powerful wave of emotion sweeps over me. If these three could walk down the street today, then tomorrow maybe there could be four. And the day after maybe five. And soon the Jem'Hadar would have nowhere to patrol for all the bureaucrats and legates and file clerks and technicians and analysts and archons filling the walkways. These three have suddenly given me hope. And a challenge: We three defy fear and despair by simply living our daily lives; what are you, Damar, _leader of Cardassia_, going to do?

And then I know what it is I am going to do. I will free the two Starfleet prisoners we are holding, the Klingon and the Trill. I will contact my friends and persuade them to join me. I will resist that female shapeshifter and her slow genocide of my people. I will start today. I will continue tomorrow. I will resist until every last Jem'Hadar is gone from our streets, until every last Breen is gone from our space, until I can walk up and wipe that simpering smile off of Weyoun's smug little face.

And I will do it for Cardassia.


End file.
